


In the Dark of the Night (a single solitary candle was lit)

by sujing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Study, Female Harry Potter, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Time Travel, that's what this count as right LOL idek what genres are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 17:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17268569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sujing/pseuds/sujing
Summary: January 1, 2000. 1 ½ years after the end of the Second Wizarding War, one Harry Potter reminisces on her life and makes a terrible, but great decision to save her closest (and perhaps only true) friend.(AU where the major events in the series still occurred, just not quite in the same way.)





	In the Dark of the Night (a single solitary candle was lit)

The clock struck midnight twelve, marking the advent of a new year. Though celebrations were no doubt occurring throughout mundane and magical Britain alike, there was no such carefree atmosphere here. The girl took a deep breath, and then let out an even deeper sigh. Somewhere in the distant woods, a crow cawed vengeance. The makings of a ritual lay on the floorboard before her. A single solitary candle was lit.

 _Hesitation_. There it was again. Once long ago, he had called it weakness. And she, in retort, had replied _and what of having precious time to think!_ But now she wasn’t sure anymore. Hell, there were lots of things she wasn’t sure of any longer. It might have been her imagination, but she could swear the night’s chill deepened with every breath she took.

It seemed aeons past. The brilliance of youth like spring, carefree and unrestricted. Well, that wasn’t quite right. The confines of her cupboard-under-the-stairs, her whale of a cousin breathing down her neck, her Uncle looking for any excuse to send her to bed without dinner, the shriek of her Aunt _you Freak!_ flashed like lightning through her mind—

She would trade her current self-imposed illusion of liberty in a second. After all, she had always been bound by accursed strings of fate. Prophecies and brother-wands, every misfortunate Halloween. But within those constraints, she dared to hope that she might make a home for herself someday. One birthed of her own design; a bed to lie upon, content, even on the day she died.

There would be no questioning as a thousand red-haired little girls lay on the cold, damp floors of chambers deep in the bowels of a castle-school draining of life. She would watch as a thousand precious broom-riding, winged-ball-catching sons were snuffed in brilliant flashes of green light. Nor would she desperately try to reach out and save a long-time mentor with half-moon glasses as he fell from the parapet, betrayed and yet not.

And yet. She could not rid herself of the niggling feeling in the back of her head. _Am I really doing this because he’s my friend? Or have I been with him for so long that I have become dependent and weak, comforted by his very presence alone… Is he more than a_ crutch _that I lean on when I am not even physically crippled?_

And what would he think? It had been he who ultimately chose, walking them both down the path to his demise. Going so far as to renounce the image of his future self: dark, imposing, but horribly _wrong_. Torn asunder into so many pieces he was barely recognisable. Oh, at first, he had been quite the same in nature. But after prolonged time spent with her as she grew (no doubt he would have escaped her were he capable, but he was not), something had finally clicked—something even his past self, still whole, had never comprehended.

Dare she say it—dare she believe it? _Redemption_ , of the Darkest wizard known to magic-kind, albeit only one small sliver of him? And to hope for more… Reality faced her and bared its fangs, maw open wide as if to swallow her whole. _Yesssss._ The sibilant hiss of her imagination shuddered through her with longing and need.

Ultimately, it did not matter. None of their sacrifices, no matter how great ( _a bloodied once-ear, a small body run through by a knife, venom dripping down a torn throat, countless casualties dead or waiting to bleed out_ ) could overcome her great despair. Her qualms just an act, a show—a mockery made of false morality that she believed wholly in that moment.

It would be her salvation; her justification. For how else could she dare to continue? Continuing meant the burden of potentially undoing years of work, tracing back the ghost of a connection remaining in her body. It would be enough, _had_ to be enough, but with it came risk and uncertainty. She, of course, knew deep down that her heart had long ago been made up. But were such a decision to have fallen to any other, she was sure her now greatest wish would never come to pass.

Chastisement, reprimand, the bitter sting of blood as her hand scarred over. Disappointment shining through old blue eyes. _They can never know_. Perhaps she would lock her secrets in a journal of her own, to be tossed away into the sea, sinking to the bottom, never to see the light of day again. A fate, ironically, not very different from the one she may well have been condemned to had they simply surrendered all they knew.

The parameters: “the best time”. Beyond that, it was anyone’s guess where she would end up. After studying countless old and obscure tomes, many doubtlessly illegal (as if that could bother her now), she came to the conclusion that one way or another, parallel universe or the same, her _will_ mattered most. A return to basics, if you will, just like the wish-magic he had once patiently (or so her rose-tinted glasses chose to remember) instructed her in.

Victory. Such a meaningless concept after one lost sight of what he or she was originally fighting for in war. Bittersweet at best, unfathomably terrible at worst, something she knew all too intimately. Once hailed as a saviour-hero, now never to surpass her own false identity. She could take advantage of her fame and give in to her supposedly snake-like tendencies for cunning and deceit tempered over years of scorn ( _family not-family, an instructor who would not look past her parentage, every fearful gaze of schoolmates believing her out for their blood, accusatory cries of championship falsehood_ ).

Or, she could do this. Whatever this was (she still didn’t know for sure, or she refused to accept it). A small but particularly petty part of her whispered at her to _get back at them for all the times they turned their backs on you_ , _toss in their faces their misconceived notions about_ what _and_ who _you are, and for the first time_ live for yourself! _You have—you know this, don’t shake your head—the_ power _._

How did it go again? Ah, yes. “ _You could be great, you know._ ” (Once upon a naïve girl, a simple statement followed by a quicker rejection, denial, despite all the signs.) Yes, if only she shed her responsibility and obligation born of associations dating back before her own birth. Her consolation: the realisation that it was all faked, all futile. Even now she wore her myriad maze of masks, under which lurked either a monster or some horrifying nothingness no man could hope to comprehend.

But what is a person if not a set of masks, polished and shined for various occasions’ use? _The best mask_ , she mused, _is the one you wear of your own choice, one that no other has laid their hand on_. She knew it was too jaded, too cynical for her, but it was all she had ever known. Grown up too fast, beyond her true age, there had always been _something_ that set her aside from her peers. Even without the influence of meddling adults, she could feel that special spark within herself that no other possessed—that is, save for _him_.

Him. Tom Riddle. _Voldemort_. Her childhood ‘imaginary’ (not so, as she soon discovered) friend and confidant, her closest family though not by blood. Maybe somewhere far up the trunks of old family trees and above existing tapestry, but it mattered little. He would die for her, _had died for her_ , and she would do the same for him.

She made up her mind, as much as one that is already set on their path is able to. She would return, and with her, he would as well. Determination coursed anew through her veins, thrumming with anticipation. She took a deep breath, savouring her last taste of her current reality.

“Farewell, new millennium; I’ll see you in some years or even a decade.” She blew out the candle and disappeared into the darkness. Around her, the world too faded as time and space twisted to the tune of her desire.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the spur of the moment, reflects some of my feelings re: the series... admittedly it's been a while since I actually read the books. The first piece of fanfic I've written (that I've published) in and outside of the HP fandom. Will probably be mirrored on FFnet at some point.
> 
> Thanks for reading and Happy New Year! ^^


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